The Road To The Hound
by Hiddle-me-This
Summary: I decided to try my hand at ASOIAF, I am huge fan of the series. My all-time favourite character is Sandor Clegane aka "The hound" and I thought it would be fun to explore him/his motives/morals further in different situations. I feel he was always seen as more of a supporting character that deserved his own chapters. set pre-ASOIAF. Rated M for all the blood and other bits we love


**Author's note:** After a lot of research I discovered he was approximately born in 270AC and would have been 16-19 the year he joined as Joffrey's protector - if we assume he was appointed some time around Joffrey's birth/first few years. This seems most likely and I gathered it from the fact Joff was born 3 years into Robert and Cersei's marriage (they were married the same year as the year the rebellion had ended which was 283AC). Also the fact that "shortly after" the rebellion Gregor and Sandor's father died in a hunting accident under suspicious circumstances leading to Gregor inheriting everything. It has been noted Sandor left not long after that to serve the Lannister household and knowing Cersei's character it would be likely she would want a guard for her first child as soon as possible and one that will be feared. Therefore Sandor must have had to prove himself by serving in the Westerlands first surely? It is known that after the rebellion Tywin returned and took his seat at Casterly Rock and stayed there right up until the Greyjoy rebellion in 289AC (but that's off topic and way in the future). With all that in mind, I have set this after the rebellion and his father's death, placing it the same year Joffrey is born but before the Hound serves at King's landing. Also I decided to explore House Serrett and House Brax due to the fact they are a mostly unknown/unwritten about houses so I can take it anywhere and remain as canon as possible.

As always all feedback is wanted and welcome, feel free to review or inbox. Enjoy! - _Hiddle-me-This_ xx

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 **Chapter 1**

The Westerland's were particularly chilly the morning that Sandor had set off to ride, he recalled. They'd been doing four days of hard riding already and would certainly be upon their destination soon. He sat tall on his pitch black courser who was only 5 years of age but was already nearly as big as a destrier. He had taken him on from the age of two as stable hands had deemed him too stubborn, aggressive and utterly untrainable. The horse was due the axe the day Sandor had first laid eyes upon him; rumours had spread of this angry and wild untameable beast, curiosity had gotten the better of him so Sandor had decided to go see for himself. A thin and gangly stable boy was doing all he could to pull the bucking horse across the courtyard. He shouted, cursed, kicked and scratched his head but the horse was too strong willed. Sandor had remembered then that he had thought the horse felt it's own death coming and it was at that point that something turned in the pit of his stomach. Sandor rushed over, tossed the stable boy a few silver and took the stallion. The stable boy scratched his chin and then held the coins outstretched in his palm _"You sure you wanna waste your coin on 'im?"_ he had warned. Sandor said nothing and just walked on, the horse already seemed to calm slightly as he led it in the other direction. Where everyone else had seen a problem, Sandor saw a challenge... he had seen a fine stallion in the making and mockingly named him "stranger" after the death aspect of the seven faced god that his horse had escaped. With intensive training, Sandor had broken Stranger in and had his respect within a moon's turn and they'd be together only a few months before Stranger let his guard down and began to show a softer side to himself; however he still reserved this for Sandor alone. Stranger was sour tempered and quick to kick or bite anyone who wasn't his master, nonetheless everyone passed comments on what a handsome beast he was.

Since Robert's rebellion had only concluded a couple years prior; the roads were treacherous with thieves and murders, still out for revenge for their fallen and their loss of lands and titles. Kevan Lannister was to be accompanied to Silverhill where he was to meet Lord Serrett's youngest boy, who was hoping to be warded and taken for a page. His last squire was promoted to Knighthood during the rebellion, his page now his learning as his squire, Ser Kevan was in need of a new noble boy to act as cup bearer and run simple errands. Sandor had been called forward by Lord Tywin Lannister himself for the job of leading as head guard to the convoy and once in Silverhill to act as Ser Kevan's sworn sword, which was an honour for a boy of six and ten. Perhaps it was due to his brother Gregor's reputation and martial prowess, known as "The mountain that rides" he was a force to be reckoned with for any foe. He'd killed hundreds of men, woman and children, high born and low born it made to no matter, Gregor followed orders and got the job done. As an 8 foot tall powerhouse with no morals just blind loyalty and cruelty, Gregor was a vital part to any house's military conquests and his sword was sworn to the Lannister's, house Clegane were their bannermen. He suspected it this reason that Tywin may have felt he needed to give Sandor a more fitting role. Their grandfather was proud to be the founder of the Clegane house and his own father nearly as proud to be it's head, it was down to him and Gregor now to maintain it's reputation of fierce loyalty. The road seemed as good a place as any since his father had passed and his brother had become head of their house. Gregor had taken up residence there, wealthy still from the sack of King's Landing he'd had serving people sent to Clegane's keep and tended to never leave the lands. It was a grim and dark place that even animals feared to tread, it's dank halls full of his "Mountain's men" - a vile bunch of rapists and robbers that knew how to do as they were bid. Sandor could only imagine what twisted horrors were going on behind it's doors, he certainly didn't wait about to find out for himself either. The more he thought on it the more he realised he was happier ignorant to it all.

Sandor bore his brother no love, only duty and spent as little time in his company as possible, avoiding him altogether where he could. Gregor was the reason Sandor could scarce sleep at night without waking up sweating in terror, the reason he feared fire. At seven year's of age Sandor had been playing with Gregor's wooden carved toy knight, he sat by the brazier with its coals still glowing hot and had picked it up cautiously. He knew he shouldn't anger his brother or touch his belongings. Gregor was twelve by this time and rarely even looked at the toy knight as by now he was striving to become one, doing any unsavoury favour for every Lannister offering coin. _Still, it was Gregor's..._ Although he was only a boy, Gregor was huge, muscled and already inhumanly strong; even men grown feared him. Sandor looked the knight over, a mixture of excitement and anxiousness filled him but he was so tantalised by the figurine he pushed his fear aside. Sandor's memory got a little fuzzy during the next part, he just sees black and then it's almost as if he relives it again... Gregor over him, his face reddened as spit froths from his mouth whilst he shouts but Sandor can't make out any words. His eyes watered from the thick smoke, all he can smell is his own flesh set aflame but the worst of it came from the searing white hot pain as the the coals became almost one with his face. At that point Sandor was sure he was going to die, at seven years old it was almost as if he had accepted it. Their father had the ordeal covered up to protect his heir, the pride of the Clegane pack. Funnily, the lie of how the bedding caught fire rolled off his tongue nicely now, though the truth was still spoken amongst people in rumours and whispers. The proof was always there, plain as exposed. After his brother's enraged attack Sandor bares half a face of black knotted scars with deep craters and has been left with only one ear. Children screamed as if he was a monster, It was rare women ever looked upon his face out of disgust and even some men couldn't stomach to look him in the eye. Sandor learnt to wear his scarring gladly as part of him, outwardly he took joy in the fact he caused terror, Sandor Clegane was a man to be feared - _House Clegane was a house to be feared._

Thinking of his ruin made him instinctively brush his long dark hair over the scarred half of his face, attempting to hide the hole there where a left ear should have been. Sandor pulled his fur cloak up around him as he rode on at the head of the host, south to Silverhill. He did not look forward to breaking bread with the Lord of Silverhill, he was a vain man. House Serrett's sigil is a peacock with it's tail feathers outstretched, a bird known for it's pride, It was on a cream white background which was perhaps done to make it more striking. Even their house words gave off a feeling of unwarranted authority, "I have no rival." _'More as like not worth rivalling with!'_ Sandor tutted to himself. The only reason Ser Kevan had made an effort to ride to their lands rather than send for them to bring their Lord's son to the Rock was owed to the fact that Silverhill got it's name from the vast amount of silver veins running throughout it's rough hilled landscapes. Ser Kevan was sure that Lord Serrett would be generous to be in good favour with the Lannister's of Casterly Rock, not only that but the proud fool would want to give off the impression that his house were strong and wealthy. Certainly some silver incentive would be thrown in to sweeten the pot and as long as you're noble born any boy would serve as a page, for Ser Kevan it was the best and easiest choice. After all they were a noble house of the Westerlands, wealthier than most and long time serving bannermen to Casterly Rock, with a name that dates back near as far best to keep them feeling important. Preoccupied in his own thoughts, Sandor was shocked to see that Ser Kevan had moved up the host to ride along side him. "Mayhaps a day longer and we'll out the worst of the terrain, then a smooth road on to Silverhill." Sandor said with a gruff voice for a boy of his age. "That being we keep up the pace." His grey eyes shot back to look over the group of men they'd bought with them. The host was rather small, twenty or so men but it didn't matter much, they were good hardened men and less made the going quicker. Sandor's job wasn't a hard one, these were Lannister men and it would take a fool to make any attempt on their lives, Lord Tywin was Lord of Casterly Rock and warden of the West, Ser Jaime was a decorated knight and Kingsguard - whether he killed the current's predecessor or not he was just as well known for his swordplay. Then of course, Cersei Lannister was their queen now like as not and Targaryen supporters were being hung all over Westeros, titles came and went during the game of thrones. _'Always serve your lord, ours is a newer house. We have to show them we are just as proud and strong as any.'_ his father's voice said to him from somewhere, he remembered his schooling at this point, "How do you fair, Ser?"

"Well, I'm fairing well. Though in truth I'd rather be with my Dorna right now, our Lancel will be coming upon his first nameday soon. My hopes are that we have this deal done within the night we arrive. No doubt Lord Serrett will over bloat the ceremonies and turn this into an ordeal though." Kevan spoke calmly, pushing his tired horse onwards to maintain pace with Stranger. "I told Tywin you were too green and your house too young. Do you know what he advised me?" Kevan didn't wait for a response to the question, his emerald eyes shone as faced Sandor. "Dog's are loyal and well trained dogs are what we need in these times. Would you agree with that statement lad?" Sandor nodded and Ser Kevan continued "Six and ten, your brother was knighted by Rhaegar Targaryen by this time."

 _'And a year after he raped Rhaegar's wife and murdered her in her bed then dashed his children's brains against the walls of their bedchamber in the name of your brother, Our Lord Tywin_ _.'_ but instead of saying that Sandor simply muttered "I'm content serving House Lannister" he spat a hearty mass of phlegm on the floor to the side of him "I ain't no knight."

"A ' _No knight_ ' from a house of Landed knights? Very queer." He furrowed his brow and drove his horse on. "So if you're not after good favour towards a knighthood Clegane, what brings you out here? Surely not just a fat purse?" Ser Kevan probed.

"As Lord Tywin says Ser, Loyalty. Well trained dogs can be hard to come by." Sandor parroted back. "A dog is to preform as it's master bids, that's what my old grandfather used to say." the none scarred side of Sandor's mouth twisted into a smile of sorts, the best he could manage. "That and the fat purse Ser."

"As you were." Ser Kevan said falling back to ride along side Ser Robert Brax, a promising young knight who wore splendid silver plated amour that boasted an amethyst unicorn on its chest plate in honour of their house's sigil.

Sandor breathed the air around him deeply, taking in all the familiar smells and tastes, he'd rode all around the Westerlands throughout his life, never really going much further than it's boarders, the Westerlands were his home, his territory. His brother Gregor had been the most travelled of the Clegane's, he'd been to King's Landing and back and all the places inbetween during Robert's rebellion. Sandor had thought about all the leagues to King's Landing whilst his brother was off fighting in the war and at one time it had felt like a distant world away. Right now though, after freeing himself of his kin, it didn't seem so far out of his reach any more. He and stranger could take the road each day at a time. They could just leave once he'd done his duty in Silverhill and not look back, the thought of the adventure caused Sandor's heart to beat a little faster. Then all at once, his mind went to the stories that had been told of the royal blood of a child and suckling babe being spilled in his Grace's bedchamber and reckoned another Clegane there wouldn't be much welcomed. Even if the Targaryen's were no longer in power the small folk were fearful and reluctant of change, they were still fiercely loyal to them and they remembered who robbed them of their dragon lords. King's Landing may not be for him after all, but somewhere would be. He would be anywhere but back at the Keep, anywhere Gregor was not would suit him just fine.

For the rest of the march Sandor rode alone, just ahead enough for silence with Stranger for company and that's how he preferred it. On Sandor's previous advice, the host had decided to press on and they'd chosen the countryside, leaving the last inn or farm a few miles back in the hopes they'd reach Silverhill early on the morrow. They had plenty of supplies, the horses were well tended and all of the men hardened and well armed. As night fell they started to put up the camp, even as high born as Ser Kevan was he had only a modest tent enough to sleep comfortable and keep any rain off. Sandor set up his bedroll just outside of it's door, as his sworn sword he had to be there to protect him. Them with horses tied them to nearby trees and some of the men built a fire to keep everyone warm as Merlon Crakehall prepared a boar they'd killed ready for tonight's supper and the irony of it hadn't gone unnoticed. A few of the host members made jests about boars eating their own kind to which Merlon answered "My blood is that of Crake the Boarkiller!" proudly as he savagely hacked meat from bone. "There are none so fierce!"

The dark crept in, with it came a chillier breeze but Sandor sat away from the fire as they all ate and didn't join in with the loud banter and all the rounds of singing "the rains of Castamere." Although he enjoyed this venture more than he'd assumed, drinking heartily and lining his stomach with the best boar he could ever remember tasting. The roads had been the welcome rest and retreat that he had needed. Ser Kevan rose from his seat at the fire silently and slipped off to his tent, leaving the cheerful merriment to continue without him. Sandor assumed that meant he too should go to his post now, he grabbed a large skin of wine and retired to his bedroll. The padding was thin and the ground beneath him was strewn with rocks and lumps, fearing he wouldn't sleep much tonight and began to drink deeply from is wine skin. Sandor watched the men at the camp fire slowly dwindle away to rest and dream until nothing but the two night guards, he and a few glowing embers remained awake, the only noises around him were that of the wind and wildlife. Soon he found his wine skin empty and his vision blurred, Sandor put his head down and closed his heavy eyes and sure enough sleep found him quickly, before he knew it the sun was just coming up on the horizon. Their sacrifice of a warm bed for the night had paid off, all men packed up their equipment and mounted their horses. The weather had been kind and the roads had been easier, he could almost smell "The Old Peacock" from here. The sun would have only been up for half a day by the time they reached Lord Serrett.

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 **** Chapter 2 soon - Favourite, follow, review, inbox!****


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